When Hope Is Lost
by Sentimental Star
Summary: **COMPLETE** Think you that I spent over half my life among Elves without knowing what grief does to you? Think you that I did not know how Gandalf’s death and Boromir’s death affected you? I saw your heart breaking, mellonnin...--Friendshipfic--


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing in this marvelous universe, it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and the lyrics used do not belong to me, either.

**A/N:** Hey, everyone! I know it's been a while since I last posted any _LotR_ fanfic, so I figured it's about time I got one out. I hope you enjoy it, it's the companion piece to _Where Are You Christmas_ (not necessarily a sequel). Please R&R!

'**Elvish'**

"**Westron/Common Speech"**

**/Thoughts/**

**Companion piece to _Where Are You Christmas._**

**.:When Hope Is Lost:.**

By Sentimental Star

It was there. Smooth. Sacred. Holding far more meaning for the Elven prince than the Dwarf beside him could know.

But the Orc knew. He could see it in the fell creature's eyes—the wicked delight, the insane joy, the exulted mockery. The Silvan Elf's eyes flashed with icy malice. He would have like nothing more than to shoot the brute where he lay, but that would be mercy. This beast deserved no mercy.

Ripping the stone and wooden pendant out of the Orc's dreadful claws, Legolas flew to the cliff edge, the fear causing bile to rise in his throat.

No.

It was not possible.

Aragorn could not have fallen. He would be hanging on for dear life to the rocky edge, balanced precariously over the raging waters of the river far below, but he would be alive. Legolas could pull him up and scold him for being reckless, tease him about his uncanny ability to attract danger, and hug him out of pure relief.

But that was folly, the prince knew. Even before he reached the tip and had seen nothing but the angry river below, not even a torn piece of cloth to alert the Elf of his friend's whereabouts, he knew it was futile to hope.

A low wail was loosed and it took nearly Legolas's entire strength not to crash to his knees. He did not bother listening, he would hear nothing. But the Men nearby were not as fortunate.

While only having just met this Elf, they were nonetheless affected by hearing the beautiful being so openly express his grief, oblivious to the presence of the Men behind him who were counting dead and seeing to the wounded, oblivious to the several pairs of eyes on his back at any given time.

No, he was aware of only one thing:

Aragorn had fallen, and with him had gone Legolas's heart.

His soul felt like it was torn to shreds. He felt dizzy from the enormity of the loss he had suffered. And it was not just his loss.

The prince squeezed his eyes shut.

Middle-Earth had lost a treasure, Elrond a son, the twins a brother, and . . . oh, Valar, Elrond!

Legolas's hand tightened around the precious pendant.

Hadn't he promised Elrond? Promised to ensure the Dúnadan's safe return home? He had failed then. But strangely, he could not bring himself to dwell on it. The void in his chest, in his soul, thwarted him from doing so. Whatever the extent of his failure, it held absolutely no weight in comparison with the utter grief he felt. The guilt would come soon enough, right now he could not focus on anything else.

He was barely aware of Gimli as the Dwarf came to stand beside him. He was not even aware of King Théoden's footsteps as the Rohirrim came to join them. "I am sorry," the Man said softly.

The Silvan Elf nodded, but could not tear his midnight eyes from the roaring rapids far below them, the icy waters that were his beloved friend's grave. Never again would he be able to pass this place, this river, without feeling nauseous, as if from poison. Never again would he walk these lands without feeling this heartache. Elves were not susceptible to illness, unlike the mortals around him, even so he _was_ sick—heartsick. Unbidden, as he stepped forward out of his own volition and squeezed his eyes shut once more, the Sindarin cry was torn from his throat, from his very soul, 'THRIONDIL!' It echoed emptily back at him.

All around and behind him, the Dwarf and the Men flinched, feeling as if their own hearts had been wrenched away from them, such was the power of the grief in Legolas's cry. All (except Gimli, of course) had given the prince a wide berth ever since he arrived in the company of the Man and the Dwarf, believing him to be some cold, unfeeling, untrustworthy, intimidating figure, and unable to understand why a Dwarf, and least of all, one of their own race, could feel so at ease with the Elf. Nor had they expected the warmth between the three.

They could accept that closeness between the Elf and Dwarf; both were strange to them and consequently they paid no attention to either race's affairs.

The relationship between Elf and Man, however, was quite a different matter.

They would have to be blind not to see how very much the two meant to each other. It was evident that both were far closer to one another than most friends could ever hope to be; it even seemed the bond they shared was deeper and more intricate than the one they shared with the Dwarf—although that came in a very close second. While not understanding 'Thriondil,' nor even the extent of the love and devotion that particular nickname carried, they nonetheless sensed something _very_ personal about the endearment.

But that revelation could not be dwelt on, not even by Théoden. Sunset neared and he knew that more danger awaited them were they to stay here. "Get the wounded to horses," he commanded his men, turning from where he stood beside Gimli and Legolas on the cliff edge to face them. "The Wolves of Isengard will not remain idle. Leave the dead." He winced inwardly at how frightfully cruel that statement must have sounded to the stricken Elf.

And indeed, as soon as that final command left the king's lips, Legolas snapped his head up and feeling suddenly faint, barely mustered a glare, which he promptly shot at the Rohirrim. Leave the dead? That meant leaving Aragorn!

The prince found he could not swallow. His glare dropped. And tears burned at the back of his eyes.

But he would not cry, not here.

They were truly leaving Aragorn.

Théoden shut his eyes tightly against the warrior's grief-etched countenance. A creature as life-loving and joyful as the Elf before him should never have to know such grief!

Without his consent, an image of the Elf and the Future King tumbling down a slope together in a tangle of arms and legs, laughing, playfully wrestling, came to his mind. He had thought it odd at the time, but had to admit, even in the wake of Théodred's death, that it had lightened his heart some. And it had brought laughter and even hope back to the homes Edoras. But now…opening his sorrowful eyes, he briefly rested his hand on the Firstborn's shoulder, though, was unable to fully meet his gaze. "Come," he murmured, eyes reflecting just how sorry he was that such a tragedy had occurred, before turning away and walking back to the remaining Rohirrim Men.

Slowly, Legolas turned his grief-darkened gaze to the raging water, pressing the pendant against its counterpart with a click, its intricate, completed design representing eternal friendship. Then he clasped the full circle tightly to his chest and bowed his blond head as a single tear slid down his cheek, its natural glow already slightly faded. 'Come back, Estel,' he choked.

Only the Valar heard his heartfelt plea.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So few, so few have returned!" Éowyn whispered as her uncle, Legolas, Gimli, and the few remaining Rohirrim Men halted in the cobble-stone courtyard of the Hornburg, searching for familiar faces, many of whom were no longer there. One in particular.

"Our people are safe," Théoden answered her quietly with a forced, tiny smile. That fell a moment later as he murmured. "But only at a great price." He dismounted.

She stepped up and gently grasped Arod's white mane. "Where is Lord Aragorn?" she inquired of the two beings on the horse's golden back.

Legolas dropped his gaze, feeling tears once again rush to his eyes, slipping down from the steed's back and helping Gimli off.

He could not answer, his composure was far too delicate.

Éowyn felt her throat seize up. If the Elf was not meeting her gaze…She released the horse's mane, turning to Gimli, her voice taking on an almost frantic quality, "Surely he is with you?"

The Dwarf struggled for words. "My lady…he fell."

Éowyn took a step back, her face tightening, shaking her head. "No…" The Rohirrim shield maiden choked, looking to her uncle nearby who turned away.

Legolas led the horse to the stables.

As if in a nightmare, the Elven prince walked through the crowded passageways of Helm's Deep, looking around with unseeing eyes. Fate seemed particularly cruel on this day. The sky was overcast, gray, and clouds gathered over the Rohirrim stronghold, threatening rain. People shielded themselves against the cold wind, hurrying wherever they needed to go. And wherever his grief-darkened gaze fell, the men and women looked away. He supposed he must be hard to look at, especially for a people who did not and _could_ not know how very deeply he felt this loss.

Once at the stables, Legolas set about de-saddling and grooming Arod. If nothing else, it took his mind off of today's events. But he could not escape the images forever.

"Daddy!" a small voice piped happily. "Mammy! Gram's back! Gram came home!"

Legolas raised his head and watched, an invisible observer, as a young girl—no more than six, he would guess—tugged at a graying older Man's hand and at a slightly younger woman's hand, looking eagerly in the direction of the Hornburg's gates.

The Elf observed as the older Man stiffened and the woman's hands flew to her mouth, released by the bouncy, joyful child as the small girl rushed forward and was scooped up into the arms of a dark-headed young Man. "Gram!" she giggled, putting her tiny arms around the youth's neck. Apparently, he was her older brother.

The tall youth grinned and hugged her before flipping her upside down, holding her carefully and securely by her legs, and tickling her. "And how are you, Ms. Livvy? Hmm? Hmm?"

Shrieks of childish laughter and happiness filled the air as the young girl tried to bat away her brother's hands.

The young Man swung her back up into his arms and hugged her tightly as the child's laughter subsided.

"'Tis good to see you, Livvy," he whispered.

"'Tis good to see _you_," their father spoke up, coming forward with his wife and embracing their two children. Then the Man stepped back and surveyed his son. Although Legolas could not see his face, he somehow felt the Man was smiling.

As his mother let go of him and he let his little sister down, the youth turned to his father, concern in his voice, "Have you seen Jonathan, Father?"

"Shall I go fetch him?" the older Man asked (Legolas believed) with another smile.

"Nay, sir," a third male's voice entered the conversation, grin evident in his tone. Another shorter, lighter-haired young Man, appeared in the little group and bowed to the older Man.

Before he had even straightened fully, the youth found himself smothered in an energetic hug from (presumably) his friend. "Jonathan!" the other young Man exclaimed. "You made it through! When we found your village…I'm so glad you are all right!"

The youth laughed whole-heartedly, returning the hug just as tightly. "'Course I am, Gram! You expected anything less? Someone needs to save your neck—which you continually insist upon risking!"

His friend released him with a chuckle, swatting playfully at the other's head. "Says who? If I recall correctly, 'tis _you_ who usually needs the rescuing! In fact--"

But Legolas could not stand it any more. The banter, the reunion…it all reminded him far too much of Aragorn. Whirling away from the scene, he choked off a sob and quickly led Arod into the stables, handing the faithful horse over to the horse-keeper and rushing out before the Man could give him a second glance.

Blindly, he ran through the crowded passages of Helm's Deep, naught but a breath of wind to those he sped by. Twist, turn, left, right. He had no idea where he was going, no idea where he wanted to be; his feet flew out of their own accord.

At last, when he felt he could run no more from the sheer grief weighing him down, Legolas crashed to the ground in a place that looked remotely vacated, praying that if there _was_ anyone here that they would leave him alone. Pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, the prince pressed his face against his leggings. Then he began to weep.

He did not notice it when clear droplets of water became red droplets of blood.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The third day at Helm's Deep dawned red, but he had stopped watching it, knowing that as long as Sauron and Saruman yet existed, as long as Orcs, Goblins, and Uruk-hai roamed the Free Lands, it would never change.

Gimli sighed. /And as long as Legolas grieves, I shall be far too preoccupied worrying about him./ He shook his head in amazement. /Who would have thought…_Me_ worried about that _Elf_? I will never be able to explain this to my kin./ _If_, of course, he saw them again. But he could not help himself. /I may not know too much yet about Elves, but if I am not mistaken, he is dying…of a broken heart. He tries not to show it, tries to hide it, but his light is diminishing, and his eyes are far too red./ Worried would be a horrible understatement. He was scared. And that feeling was not something he was accustomed to experiencing.

Besides, something in the air this morning felt different, smelt different. Something was going to happen—whether good or bad he had yet to find out. Then he heard a guard call to him:

"Gimli! Gimli, son of Glóin! For your father's sake, come up here! You will not believe this until you see it with your own eyes!"

The Dwarf's heart skipped a beat and he was inundated by another emotion that had been foreign to him over the past few days—hope. But was it possible? Could it truly be?

As fast as he could scramble up the steps, he went, gaining the guard's side within seconds. "Where?" he gasped out urgently in spite of himself.

The guard gave him a boost up onto the wall before indicating a lone figure riding towards Helm's Deep. "There!"

Gimli looked…and gave a loud, joyful shout. Jumping down beside the guard once more, he seized the Man's hand and furiously pumped it up and down before hurrying down the steps to greet this miracle.

Barely managing to keep his head up, Aragorn, son of Arathorn and adopted son of Lord Elrond, wearily threaded his way through the crowded corridors of the Hornburg, stumbling occasionally and his mind fixed on only one thing—finding his friends.

But it kept straying to the missing weight around his neck and against his heart, a comforting weight that he felt odd without. His pendant, the one he had received from Legolas over seventy-nine years ago, was gone. Undoubtedly, it was lost somewhere underneath the raging waters of the river he had fallen into. He knew it was but a pendant, something that _symbolized_ eternal friendship, and that they truly did not need such a reminder, but it hurt to lose it all the same.

He stumbled again, this time ending up against a wall. Taking a shaky breath and shutting his eyes in an attempt to stop the world from spinning, Aragorn rested where he was a moment. When he felt he could continue without the world upending, he did so.

Suddenly, horns sounded from rampart to rampart, their voices splitting the air.

At once, the Ranger felt his face flush. They were announcing his return. /Of all the things to do…if Legolas or Gimli did this, I swear I will kill them/ he thought, stepping up his pace as much as he could. /They do not even know the news I bring…/ But he was spared having to finish that thought as a couple of things happened at the same time.

With a thump, Gimli the Dwarf attached himself to Aragorn's waist. Even as he brought his arms around to hug the stout man, feminine laughter directed his attention to the right and Éowyn pattered up a set of stars, holding her skirts up and rushing towards him. As soon as she reached the Dúnadan, the Rohirrim shield maiden—supposedly as cold as ice—threw her arms around him in a joyful, relieved hug, nearly knocking all three of them over. At the last moment, he was able to brace them by falling back a pace.

Aragorn could have sworn the Dwarf was crying. At any rate, his voice was quite thick as he muttered, "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest, the uncanniest, and most reckless Man I ever knew!" A thick laugh. "Bless you, laddie! Bless you!"

The Ranger laughed. "Well, thank you very much!"

The three separated and Aragorn looked at the two before, now extremely serious. "I must speak with the king. This cannot wait."

That was when Éowyn startled them, straightening, "Then I shall take your message to my uncle."

Aragorn looked sternly at her. "What? Why?"

"Because I believe there is something far more important for you to worry about," the shieldmaiden replied, equally stern. "Or rather, someone." She exchanged a meaningful glance with Gimli.

The Ranger felt his mouth go dry, his throat seize up, and his heart clench. Indeed, there was someone far more important than the news he bore, someone, he realized with a sickening jolt, who currently was not here. He immediately whirled on the Dwarf, demanding, "Gimli, where is Legolas?"

oOoOoOoOoOo

A light had gone out in the Elf, their Dwarven friend had said. Legolas had cried tears of blood.

/ "I see by your face you know what ails him," Gimli murmured. "I would beseech you then, Aragorn, go to him."/

And indeed, he _did_ know what ailed his best friend.

He cursed his stupidity. Had not Legolas told him numerous times how fearful he was of losing him? How much he dreaded the day when Aragorn would die?

And now the Elf was dying of grief and a broken heart.

The Ranger flew down the various paths, twists, and turns of Helm's Deep, praying to Ilúvatar he was not too late, for surely if Legolas died, he would spend the rest of his days an empty soul, a shell, especially since his Elven family would be crossing into the Undying Lands. And he doubted he would be able to stand the guilt.

Suddenly, his ears picked up Elvish singing. Immediately, he adjusted his path to follow it. The voice singing the words caught him as desperately sad, causing his heart to twist within his chest. He skidded around a final corner and there stopped dead, barely managing to stifle an involuntary gasp.

Legolas was like a dying star, the joy that Aragorn was so accustomed to seeing in the Firstborn's face had all but vanished, the mischievousness and youthfulness he was so accustomed to seeing in the Firstborn's face had all but disappeared. Right now he seemed every bit his 2,931 years of age. Aragorn found, to his great surprise and distress, that he missed his beloved friend even though the Elf was before him, barely two yards away. The slight archer sat on the edge of—to all appearances—a little used water spout. The Firstborn seemed unaware of his presence, still singing and hugging one knee to his chest, not looking up:

'When the cold of winter comes

'Starless night will cover day

'In the veiling of the sun

'I will walk in bitter rain.

'But in dreams

'I still hear your name…'

By that point, Aragorn decided he had had quite enough of Legolas's grieving and slowly walked forward, picking up the bittersweet melody without once breaking the flow of the song, which now both of them were singing:

'And in dreams

'We will meet again…'

Legolas turned with a start as soon as he heard the familiar timbre, in his shock stopping his singing abruptly. He stared, uncomprehending, at the much longed for sight before him, fearful that the mirage would vanish. The tears of blood, still trickling down his cheeks, left streaks on his face. Aragorn's heart writhed at the painfully bewildered expression on his life-long friend's countenance as he beheld him. Out of their own accord, tears appeared in his eyes and one or two trickled down his cheeks. But still he continued, voice soft and thick:

'When the seas and mountains fall

'And we come to end of days

'In the dark I hear a call

'Calling me there

'I will go there

'And back again.'

He had reached Legolas and sat down beside him on the rim of the well by now. Scooping up a handful of water, he cupped his hand against the prince's face, washing away the blood staining one porcelain cheek, before following suite with the other. While doing so, he repeated, no longer singing, 'And back again, quel mellon-nin.' He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Legolas's forehead. 'And back again.'

The Silvan archer started trembling softly, his eyes wide as he entreated, 'Tell me you are real.'

How was it possible? How in Middle-Earth was it possible? Legolas had spent too many days in agony to believe what his eyes saw, and even, what he felt. No, he had to hear it from the Ranger himself, and even then he did not think he would be able to believe it.

'As real as you are,' Aragorn murmured with a smile, guiding the prince's hand to his chest and pressing it to his heart.

The Silvan Elf went quite still, feeling the Man's heart beat strongly underneath his finger tips. He loosed a ragged sob. 'Estel,' came the choked whisper as he clenched his hand in the Dúnadan's tunic. When he raised his eyes to Aragorn's face, they were clear, and the tear slipping down his cheeks no longer consisted of blood. Legolas's voice was small and quiet as he cracked a tentative smile. 'Le-ab dollen.' He appraised the Ranger's condition, his smile widening a bit more as he remarked in Westron, "You look terrible."

Aragorn rolled his eyes before grinning at his best friend in relief, "Thank you ever so much. And I assume you look perfect, as always?"

The Firstborn sniffed lightly. "About time you admitted it," Legolas shot back good-naturedly, secretly amazed at how easy it was to fall back into familiar banter.

Aragorn turned serious, reverting to Sindarin, 'Trust me, 'tis a relief to see you alive.' He looked away, falling silent momentarily as his throat tightened. Finally he managed, 'Valar, if you had died of…of this…' The Dúnadan gestured helplessly and, squeezing his eyes shut, pressed his lips together and shook his head, unable to finish his sentence.

Legolas looked down at the ground and whispered, 'I am sorry, mellon-nin.'

The Ranger gave a small start, turning to the prince. 'Legolas?' he queried.

'I let myself be consumed by grief,' the Silvan Elf explained softly, his midnight eyes fixed on the ground.

Aragorn leaned close and tipped the prince's head up with his free hand, smiling into the weary midnight orbs gazing back at him—not a particularly happy smile, but a smile nonetheless. 'I could hardly expect you not to, for I know I would be the same had you been the one to fall. We both knew the risks we were taking when we became friends, you more so than I at first, but still we knew. What kills me,' the Man murmured, moving his hand to the side of Legolas's face and resting his forehead against the Elf's, 'is that _I _was the one who caused you such pain, such--'

'Estel. 'Tis a very difficult thing for an Elf to accept when one so dear dies. When you die, I, too, shall go, be it over the sea or to the Halls of Mandos. My heart will be unable to withstand forcible separation from you,' Legolas advised lowly. 'Do not blame yourself for that. As you said, we knew the risks and we accepted them. It does not help the grief, but then, not much does.'

'But to _die_ of that grief, grief _I _caused--!' the Ranger objected. Now it was his turn to drop his eyes as—unbidden—an image of a grief-stricken Legolas came to mind. 'I'm so sorry,' choked.

'Estel,' the Firstborn cut in sternly. 'Shh. 'Tis all right. 'Twas not your fault. 'Tis all right,' Legolas continued to soothe, wrapping his hands around the back of the Ranger's head, keeping it pressed gently against his own.

Aragorn shook his head slightly. 'Do not say that! 'Tis _not_ all right.' Releasing the Silvan Elf's hand, he took Legolas's face in his own two. The prince wrapped his slim ones around both the Ranger's wrists, but kept his head against Aragorn's. The Dúnadan continued quietly, 'Think you that I spent over half my life among Elves without knowing what grief does to you?' The Firstborn tried to look away, but the Man would have none of it. 'Think you that I did not know how Gandalf's death and Boromir's death affected you? I saw your heart breaking, mellon-nin.'

'That was different,' Legolas's voice was but a whisper. 'Gandalf is alive, but then, he _is_ an Istari. And Boromir,' the prince smothered an errant sob, closing his eyes, 'Boromir was my friend, but I loved him naught like I love you, not like the brother you are to me.'

Gently, Aragorn brushed his thumbs over the Silvan Elf's eyelids, wiping away the tears. 'Aye, and to believe me dead so soon after Boromir, one you allowed to become so much a part of you and whom allowed you to become so much a part of them…' The Man's voice finally broke. 'You nearly died yourself! I am _mortal_, Legolas!'

'I know that, Estel. You think I do not? Whenever you are hurt, whenever you are ill, that is a _very_ constant reminder. I know what it means to pledge friendship to a mortal, I know what it means to be willing to die for one! Think you I would name you Thriondil if I did not? I bound myself to you long ago, at the very instant I pulled you out of that lake near Imladris when you were seven! If I had to do it again, I would. You _know_ this, Estel! If die I must to ensure you life, then die I will. And I would not regret for a moment. I say I love you like a brother, but the truth is, you _are_ my brother, the only one I have ever known. And brothers' hearts are ever bound as one.'

In saying so, Legolas gently pulled away and dug into a deerskin pouch on his belt, drawing out a single half of pendant on a leather string and holding it up at the Ranger's eye level. On it was the symbol for eternal friendship, and just behind it, Aragorn caught a glimpse of a scar, old and faded, on the archer's palm. Testament to one of the gifts Legolas had given him during Yuletide when he was thirty.

The Dúnadan choked, and closed his large hand tenderly around the Silvan Elf's smaller, slim one, using that to pull Legolas tightly against his chest. As another tear rolled down his cheek, he buried his face in the prince's golden hair and growled thickly, 'You are, without a doubt, the most stubborn, wonderful creature in the universe.'

Legolas gave a laugh, albeit a wet, muffled one. 'Are you sure? Do you not listen to your own words?'

'Elf, I am warning you…' the Ranger threatened playfully, heedless of his thick voice and dripping tears.

The Firstborn merely laughed again, settling comfortably against the Dúnadan's chest. And Aragorn mused to himself that, yes, tens of thousands of Orcs and Uruk-Hai were only hours away from assaulting Helm's Deep, but in this moment, all was right with his world.

**I Veth (The End)!**

**Elvish Translations:**

**Thriondil (Elf-brother)**

**Estel (Hope; Aragorn's given Elven name)**

**Quel mellon-nin (My good/dear friend)**

**Mellon-nin (My friend)**

**Imladris (Rivendell)**


End file.
